White Picket Fence
by Cherry1315
Summary: Hermione needed to fix this mess Ron made of her life when he cheated on her. The muggle and magic world never knew what hit them. One does not simply dismiss Hermione Granger.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN:** Hi! Welcome! So this is hugely different adventure for me. I have never written in the Harry Potter Universe nor Marvel. To be honest, I feel like I've bitten off more than I can chew. Oh well, here we are._

_I live in Australia, sorry if there are any ___inaccuracies!__

* * *

**White Picket Fence**

* * *

Hermione had rats, and not the normal kind. Something between a Murtlap, which are coastal creatures found in Britain, and a bush rat. But Hermione wasn't in Britain and Murtlap's were known to primarily eat crustaceans. These were destroying her garden exactly like a bush rat would but were resistant to curses and jinxes like the Murtlap. She was at her wit's end.

Lifting the parsley bunch that had flopped over from the roots being eaten by the creature; Hermione could feel tears prickling. Although this plant was only a normal herb, it was the sixth thing destroyed. Blowing a loose curl away from her face, she stood from her bent position and frustratedly walked back to her cottage with the plant in hand.

Filling a bucket with water, she placed the plant in, attempting to keep it from withering away. She'd be using parsley for the next couple of days, it seemed. Plonking the bucket on the kitchen counter, Hermione eyed the large amount of green and snipped a considerable portion off, deciding to hang some up to dry; she knew she wouldn't be able to use the plant in time before it shrivelled.

Living in a Muggle town, Hermione tried to do most things without magic. Of course, since the house was newly constructed, and her garden was still quite underway, she used notice-me-not-charms when she knew something needed to be done quickly, like the lattice on the left side of the house or the greenhouse in the middle of the garden that was padlocked and indefinitely charmed. She didn't need someone stickybeaking around because of the _oddities_.

When Hermione found land on the sea edge of Point Dume as cheap as Butterbeer, she almost fell over in her chair. Last she heard it was a billionaire's dream. Literally. The furthest point owned by a Muggle called Tony Stark. She, of course, got out of her stupor and researched the rarity. Finding out there was a missile that obliterated the millionaire's mansion made people sell. People didn't want to risk their lives living near someone who, although hailed a hero, could bring such destruction.

This worked well for Hermione. It got her well away from the wizarding world, especially London, and decently away from people. She was in the process of making it more secluded by getting some tall trees and hedges, preferably ones that were safe for Muggles to see but she could use in potions; unfortunately, her pest problem was a bit of a setback. The last bit of information Hermione found out about Tony Stark was that he lived in New York, so Hermione had a lovely hillside to look over since he hadn't rebuilt.

Filling a cup with water, Hermione watered the herbs hanging above the kitchen sink's window (sage, basil and thyme, to name a few). They were growing nicely inside. When Hermione turned away from the window, the bright red bucket of parsley looked like an eyesore on her kitchen counter. Hermione moved the Asphodel flower—she harvested the roots for a potion days ago—to be more of a centrepiece on the counter and pushed the bucket against the wall. Picking up her empty teacup and breakfast bowl, she tidied the kitchen. Always trying to be busy.

Hermione eyed the open living space, deeming it clean before walking out the back door again. Down the porch steps, across the cobblestone path, to the very back of her property. Unlike the high fence surrounding her property, there was only a low-lying fence at the back so she could see the ocean easily from her dining room, bedroom and upstairs study. Unlocking the gate and peering down the cliff, this was one area she changed with magic late at night where no moon touched the sky. She made the cliff have an access point to the beach below overlapped with a Confundus Charm for secrecy. Uneven, almost natural-looking stairs cut into the side of the cliff. Always practical, Hermione also installed a handrail to minimise the possibility of falling; the salt spray made the steps slippery.

Barefooted, sand crunched between Hermione's toes when she reached the bottom. Her hair was going to be a knotted mess by how windy it was as she walked along the secluded beach. The thick, salty air whipped across her face and tickled her nose. The crashing sound of waves hitting rocks roared as Hermione continued, enjoying life's simplicity. It was finally hitting – this was her new home.

The Howlers had come, some from individual people, some from people who she knew but didn't speak to and some Howlers multiple people talked—_yelled_—together. And, they didn't affect Hermione as much as she thought they might. The pity letters were too far few in-between to take into consideration on the move.

_Hermione Granger On The Way to Become Minister of Magic_

_Ron Weasley Affair_

_It Was Hermione Granger's Fault For Ron Weasley's Straying Ways?_

_Hermione Granger Cracking_

_Ron Weasley says it was the "Imperius Curse"!_

_Golden Trio Finished_

_Where Is Hermione Granger_

Hermione read all the news articles like a drug addict. Her life became messy due to Ron. She tried so hard to keep it together, to continue with her plans on changing—_fixing—_the wizarding world but Ron Weasley had to botch up everything. No one took her seriously, thinking she was heartbroken, which she was, but they felt she was letting her emotions control her. That she was barmy.

_Have a holiday Hermione; I know you're going through a rough patch._

So, she did go on holiday to reassess her life. That's when the Howlers came. Hermione suspected due to being constantly at the Ministry they couldn't reach her until the week off – she'd redirected strangers mail years ago when a lot of it seemed to be work-related (quite a simple spell Hermione found); The Ministry's post was regulated since the war – post had a tendency of being held back if it looked suspicious to be tested for ill intentions. Or, the one particularly nasty article which came out late by Rita Skeeter finally snapped people out of their stupor and hence, the post finally came.

The Howlers were eye-opening. The Wizarding World needed time to forget the news about her and Ron Weasley's divorce. Therefore, Hermione moved far, far away. She made sure where she lived wasn't near a wizarding community so no one would catch a wisp of where she was. Regardless of the Wizarding World needing time, Hermione needed her own time too.

Whilst the dust was settling in London, Hermione was brewing potions and supplying them to establishments such as a small prestigious American wizarding hospital; Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; and a few other personalised orders to people who responded to the advertisement in The New York Ghost, the American version of The Daily Profit. She didn't want to rely on the money coming in from selling the house she and Ron bought.

She was thankful Ron and she had their own separate savings accounts and that everything wasn't merged. Thankful at her own hindsight. The primary account still had to be divided… but that was for another day.

Walking to the furthest point Hermione could reach on the beach, she sat on a large rock near where the cliff started jutting out, and wiggled her feet into the sand, burying them. The sound of the waves battering against the cliffside was much louder now. It faded out the noise in her head — the need to sort everything out.

Admiring as the sun set, Hermione decided on something simple. She would finish her wards tonight.

* * *

Warm morning light splatted across Hermione's face, waking her as the sun rose higher. Her whole room was aglow; even her white, white ceiling wasn't boring now as she rolled over, getting out of bed. Padding to her cosy ensuite, she got ready for the day.

Apparating to the magical community within New York was loosely reminiscent of Diagon Ally. A bubble of old times in a technologically advancing world. It had been a year since she last step foot here. It was almost time to reconnect with the Ministry of Magic in London. She had a few things to sort out with the Magical Congress of the United States of America, or MACUSA for short, first. Like her fireplace.

Walking through the revolving door, Woolworth was abuzz with people on the ground level. Official papers were flying through the air, trying to get to the right department or person. Normal. It was normal. Hermione weaved her way through the ordered chaos to the front desk and politely waited to be directed even though she knew where she needed to go due to being here before. Her job asked her to travel — to liaise between different communities and leaders.

"We'll be with you shortly, thank you for your patience," the centre person droned without looking up from the paperwork.

After a good seven minutes, one of the secretaires briefly looked up and jumped in their seat once realising who was standing in front of them.

"How can I help you?" The man asked.

He stuttered.

Hermione took it in stride, putting on a smile. Rare for folk to react like this over the pond – maybe he remembered her from another time. It only seemed to happen when a meeting was made, and the person was well informed on who they'd be seeing. "I'd like to get my fireplace connected to the floo."

The man hadn't blinked. He looked confused.

"Oh yes! Department of Magical Transportation! Level four. The elevators are to the left, go right ahead," he said, sweeping his arm in the general direction. "I'll let them know you're on your way," he finished, almost bowing.

Hermione's smile became tight at the edges as she thanked him, turning away. Whispers from the front desk ensured. Barely five steps from the elevator she saw a note with her name largely scrawled flew up a shaft. A big red IMPORTANT stamped across the middle.

It was official, Hermione Granger would be back on the map. People would know where she was.

And she was most definitely not living in London anymore.

How unfortunate.

Seated within the Floo Network Authority office, a pudgy, obviously flustered, woman entered soon after with the right nametag. Two people had 'accidentally' came into the room as Hermione waited. Hermione stood, non-verbally asking for a handshake. After, the woman fanned herself as she sat, directing for Hermione to do the same.

"Welcome, welcome Hermione Granger."

She had a lilting voice. Briefly glancing at the desk's nameplate, Hermione responded, "thank you for having me, Sophia Greenwood."

Sophia sorted her desk as a habitual, nervous distraction. "So, what can I do for you today?" Sophia asked.

"I would like to connect my fireplace to the floo," Hermione said simply enough.

Sophia laughed good-heartedly. "Of course! Of course! Why else see me—" Sophia opened her drawer and gathered a few documents "—that's simple enough, we'll get one of our guys out by the end of the day to connect it for you. Just gotta fill out a few of these."

Hermione straightened her shoulders, pretending to look at the paperwork. "Well, you see," Hermione paused, searching for a delicate way of phrasing it. "As you may know, I work for the Ministry of Magic—" Hermione made sure the woman was listening "—and that I now live in America. I was hoping to internationally connect the floo so I wouldn't need to ask for Portkeys constantly ."

Sophia's eyes widened, and she started to babble.

Hermione cut off the chitter, continuing, "now, I know your department cannot purely do this itself especially, per se, for someone's semi-personal use."

The woman finally blinked, rapidly. Hermione tried to smile disarmingly, to lighten the mood. Charisma did not come naturally at all.

"As I know this would be such a big workload for anyone, little own for you to handle all by yourself— Hermione felt like she was spitting nails. Like she was a damn Slytherin "—I am happy to liaison between the different departments, both American and British, to help get this put through. Of course, if you'd allow me?"

The woman's hands were on the desk, spread wide in a grounding way. Hermione could see her swallowing thickly before nodding slowly in agreement.

"If you're happy doing this, then I don't see why not," Sophia said, looking at a pile of papers on her desk, and smiled back at Hermione. "After all, considering this is such a rare thing to be asked of, it would probably take months to pass it… if I could pass it with the higherups."

Both women laughed together.

Sophia wrote a personalised letter and magically attached it to the floo connection documents. "To start the process, here you are. Come back when you've gotten the other approvals, or if you have any other questions. Good luck."

Relief washed over Hermione. She stood and firmly shook Sophia's hand. "Thank you, Sophia Greenwood."

Sophia accepted the thanks and then went to open her mouth again. Hermione cut Sophia off before she could say anything else. Hermione knew after sitting through many meetings with people from all over the world that there would be _almost_ goodbye pleasantries. They would always slip in a congratulations on fighting in the war and winning. Always asking what the real story was. Some snuck it in so smoothly that Hermione forgot she just ended a serious meeting and some blaringly obvious that she visibly winced at the awkwardness of it all. Mostly these days that had stopped, after all, it had been years since the war and Hermione had done other notable things, but there was the odd occasion, hence now.

Unless Sophia was going to ask about her divorce, then Hermione did not feel bad at all for cutting it short.

Hermione waved the papers in show, saying, "I had better get started! Have a lovely day!"

"You too," Sophia squeaked back into the empty room.

Talking between MACUSA and the Ministry of Magic departments to get the floo network setup was frustrating, to say the least. To make it so her floo network worked semi internationally there were many rules and regulations to address—_bypass_. Hermione primary liaised between the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Magical law Enforcement and Magical Transportation, and quite a few of their sub-departments.

She international Portkeyed more within the last two months than she ever had in her life. Her hair looked electrified by the insane lack of sleep and constant travel. It was worth it though, as she watched the MACUSA Officials enter her house and set up the connection. If Hermione had done it the conventual way, always using Portkey to get to London, she would not be surprised if her stomach ultimately left her body.

Her floo was not without restrictions. Like any other floo in America, she could travel to any open location connected but London, she could only connect to three areas: The Ministry of Magic's international floo, The Leaky Cauldron and Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter's residence. She could only return home by two of those locations. The Ministry and Harry's house. The MACUSA didn't like the idea of an open connection easily accessible by the public via The Leaky Cauldron, which suited Hermione perfectly. She fought tooth and nail to connect to Harry's floo.

It helped that Kingsley Shacklebolt still wanted her to work for the Ministry, even with the end period of her holiday unknown, and that The Boy Who Lived was The Boy Who Killed Voldemort. Knowing people in high places were quite benefiting.

Plus, rare as it may be, Harry did visit America for work.

Once the Officials were done and apparated away, Hermione restrengthened her wards and shut her fireplace hearth, blocking any accidental misdirection. This part of her house was her favourite. The second story overlooked the garden and had a beautiful wide, sweeping view of the ocean. It was where she could see the sand and get a good perception of the tides.

The fireplace was on the wall to the right side of the window and to the left, the stairwell resided. You could see the loungeroom below through gaps in the handrail (and just a peek of the kitchen and dining room since it was an open living space). The back wall had rows of books from ceiling to floor. Hermione's fingertips brushed over the spines until she reached a slim book. Making sure all the curtains were securely closed, she tapped the book's spine twice with her wand. The bookcase groaned and shifted, sliding back enough for her to enter.

A hidden room behind a bookcase? Cliché, Hermione knew. But she only had so much wiggle room in a Muggle neighbourhood. She didn't want to risk dousing the house in magic due to all the technology muggles used. She wasn't sure what sort of ill effects it would have. If a Muggle ever randomly—_forcibly_—dropped by to visit, they would not notice the second story was smaller on the inside due to the hidden room.

The hidden room was slim but ran along the whole back wall of the upper part of the house. Across the wall had a long bench with a barstool tucked under. Cauldrons were bubbling and self-stirring. Hermione noticed one just about to turn the wrong colour and quickly added Belladonna, making four counter-clockwise stirs and lowered the heat to a simmer. The potion would be complete in thirty-three minutes.

She checked how the other cauldrons were coming along before pulling out the barstool and sat, opening an old copy of The New York Ghost she picked up last time in New York.

On the last page, there was a smattering of small photos. Some had alien creatures moving fast, some of a big green beast in a rampage on the side of a skyscraper, and one lone picture of a mismatched group of six standing in what resembled a destroyed city.

The words _New York Tribute, Lest We Forget_ was the article's title. It named people the magical community lost four years ago and how the magical community almost got breached. It asked us to question how we felt about the Avengers and what might happen to the magical world. That we weren't alone. That we weren't safe. It then talked about recent events, referring to what happened in Sokovia; reinforcing that we were practically twiddling our thumbs.

Wand vibrating, Hermione closed the newspaper, making a note to read it further later, and turned off the heat, quickly chilled the potion before pouring it into twenty-five flasks. Boxed up the order and walked to the far end of the room where a wooden cabinet sat. Placing the box in with the exact address it needed to be delivered to and firmly shut the door.

After a few moments, she reopened it to check if the package was received. A lone note instead sat in the centre, reading:

_Thank you for choosing us as your delivery service, have a merry day!  
Vanishing Cabinet Conveyance._

Vanishing cabinets had been banned in London after Death Eaters snuck into Hogwarts through one. It was luck Hermione overheard a conversion in the New York Emporium when she was deciding on an owl. A witch had visited Africa and had fallen in love with a man and didn't want to own an owl as she was allergic, and he was a No-Majs (Muggle). But she had to keep in contact with the man somehow. Her friend suggested using her owl as she usually did, but the witch went bright red and reminded the friend of what happened when she tried to send a letter to her crush in school. The relentless teasing. The mortification.

The friend, of course, remembered and reverted to old times, annoying the witch once again. The witch's friend eased and finally got serious, suggesting the kickstart postal service, Vanishing Cabinet Conveyance, for 'Witches and Wizards Who Do Not Owl'. The conversion between the two witches was very hush-hush, and Hermione worried about them talking about such things in public, considering Rappaport's Law. Although mostly outdated, the law still held some ground.

Ingenious to reinvent vanishing cabinet's and commercialise them into a payable service. The service was trying to expand outside of America, but Hermione knew they would never be accepted in Britain. However, it worked for what Hermione needed, even if it was slow. She paid the highest subscription due to everyone living in Britain. She didn't trust owl's constantly flying to and from home due to everyone's worry over her divorce and disappearance.

The cabinet had one shelf, and that shelf is where your mail sat, waiting for you to collect and the bottom of the cabinet is where you place your sent mail. The post would be regulated and checked for any maliciousness before being sent by one of their own highly trained owls, another cabinet connected to the system, or the No-Majs way.

Hermione scrunched up the standard thank you note and locked her vanishing cabinet. As much as she trusted Vanishing Cabinet Conveyance's safely regulations, she would never leave it unlocked. Making sure everything was under control, Hermione left the hidden room, tapped the slim book and watched as the bookcases slid back into place.

* * *

_**AN:** So. Yeah. What do you think so far?  
I've got some more written. I'm planning on this_not_ being a large multi fic (probably about 5 chapters, max)...  
_


	2. Chapter 2

_**An:** Thank you, everyone, who reviewed so far! I hope you like this chapter just as much!_

* * *

**White Picket Fence  
**_Chapter 2_**  
**

* * *

**_2012 – Department of Magical Law Enforcement, London._**

Shit was hitting the fan in America, or so the proverbial saying went. They were in constant war and not a normal one either: Super strength humans, flying steel robots and aliens. Complete utter chaos. And the kicker? The magical community was doing _nothing_. People were _dying_.

"Look, Hermione, I already asked the higher-ups and it has nothing to do with us," Harry said while sorting paperwork.

"But Harry people are dying, and not just Muggles!" Hermione was defiant.

Harry paused, looking at her briefly between papers. "Yes, in America, not Britain."

Hermione huffed, getting worked up once more on the matter. "Yes, for now. Who's to say that won't change. The world isn't that small, and have you seen what these Muggles can do?! They won't freak out about magic of all things!"

"Stop, Hermione. It's out of our hands," Harry said once again.

"You know, eighteen percent of mutants aren't mutants—" Hermione switched tactics "—They're witches or wizards who came under the radar too early, and then because of the laws they don't see our world. They're already under too much surveillance by the muggles once found," she finished, frustration getting the better of her near the end.

"There's a reason for that," Harry finally clipped back, "the muggles don't trust the mutants. To them, we'd probably be a different type of mutant if we started sticking our nose in where it shouldn't be."

Hermione glared, posture getting ridged, hair frizzier. "That was years ago, Harry! They closed the concentration camps. They have a school now! Hell, even some muggle mythology has turned out true!"

They both stood there, red-faced, getting nowhere.

"Look, I'm Auror. I'm not even head. And, Hermione, you're in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. We can't do anything," Harry finally said.

Hermione blew a curl away from her face. It stubbornly sprung right back. "Well, that's got to change," Hermione said, voice matter of a fact—Harry got an ominous feeling. "Harry. Please, don't be so humble, you're about to be the Deputy Head. You'll be second in charge," she said smirking.

Harry knew she was calculating something by the gleam in her eye.

That was not a good thing.

He scribbled something down, moved the paper over, pretending to be finished. "Well, nice seeing you again," he said awkwardly, quickly standing, pulling on his coat. "Dinner at yours this Friday, right?"

Harry knew Hermione's dark eyes were following him. He wanted to rub his temples as he heard the tapping of her foot. All he wanted was to finish his work and go home to Ginny. Have a nice relaxing night.

Just as he was at the threshold of the door, Hermione softly spoke, "Have a good night, Harry."

Harry didn't know what was worse. Hermione scheming with or without him.

That peaceful night didn't seem so peaceful anymore. He was officially worried.

* * *

**_2016 - Present time.  
_**

Pepper left. After everything they'd gone through, Pepper had left. Again.

Tony had plans to move away from the city. Get a lakeside house. You know, do the whole white picket fence family thing with her. But she left. Mind you, he never actually got to tell her what he was planning. Because. She. Left.

Rubbing his temples while outside the Massachusetts Institute of Technology after talking about B.A.R.F., Tony felt a headache coming on. He couldn't shake what that woman said about her son. How Tony Stark only fought for himself. That he was a murderer. He needed to get out. Get his head straight.

New York wasn't cutting it anymore.

"FRIDAY?" Tony said, almost apprehensive.

"Yes, sir," his A.I. responded.

"Call a builder; we're moving back to Malibu."

"Sir, the same person who built the original house?"

"Yeah, yeah. Rob, right?" Tony said flippantly, not caring. He trusted his system to find the best.

"Yes, Robert. Are we building from the blueprints you drafted on Tuesday?" FRIDAY asked.

Tony hesitated, thinking about Pepper. Wondering if she would come back.

"No," Tony finally said. "We're rebuilding the old place."

"Yes, sir."

"Wait, make the workshop bigger. We're gonna need more space. Also, inform the Secretary of State on my new living arrangements. Looks like we'll be doing a lot of conference calls."

"Is that all, sir?"

"Yeah. Thanks, FRIDAY."

Tony's face was grim as he got into the car taking him to Avengers Tower. He had affairs to settle before the move.

Walking into the lobby, he bypassed the two secretaires and pressed the button for the private elevator. Inside, he pushed for the top floor. Once in ascend, he swiped his hand down his face, slapping his cheek once in frustration.

"FRIDAY?" Tony finally spoke, pensive.

"Sir?"

They had the new Avengers facility in upstate, New York... "Sell this building."

FRIDAY didn't respond for a while. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Tony said very matter of a fact.

After a moment, just before Tony was about to leave the elevator, FRIDAY spoke, "Sir, I have contacted an agency. The proceedings will be started shortly."

Feeling like a weight had been lifted, he thanked FRIDAY and entered his living quarters.

Tony paused as soon as his feet touched the carpet in the living room. There were bags. Three of them, with one open, half-filled.

He could feel tremors in his fingertips. He clenched and unclenched his hands a few times before shaking them as he stared at the luggage.

Distantly, the _tap, tap, tap _of heels were heard, coming closer.

"Oh!" Pepper said.

Tony didn't look up.

"I didn't think you'd be home for another hour," Pepper said hastily and put the armful of clothes and junk in the suitcase.

Tony blinked at the sound of the zipper closing.

Just as Pepper was about to pass him, he asked, "So that's it?"

Tony knew his voice was rough, perhaps harsh, because she flung around.

"Yes, Tony. That's it," Pepper said coldly.

"After all these years you're going to walk?" Tony asked again.

Pepper was glaring. At least she wasn't an ice queen now. There was emotion.

"Yes, I'm done. I'm sick of this turbulent relationship. The uncertainty!"

"What uncertainty!" Tony raised his voice back.

"I don't know if you're going to come home every time you step outside," Pepper snapped.

_Oh. That was reasonable,_ Tony thought.

Then she continued, "Or even here! I don't know if you'll stupidly make something and it will kill you—_us—_within these walls!"

"That was a year ago! I thought we got through that! I know I fucked up. I learnt from my mistakes! Can't you see I'm trying to make sure you're—hell, _everyone's—_ safe!"

"No, Tony, I can't," Pepper gritted out, "We're done. For good, this time."

So, now he wasn't selfish enough, it seemed. He couldn't win.

The soft close of the elevator doors made him sigh as he walked to the bar and made a stiff drink.

Yes, Tony needed to get out of this city. He had private jets and a suit that could fly on autopilot if the world needed him.

* * *

It was a quarter of a year later when Hermione set foot in Diagon Ally. Her old house that she shared with Ron still hadn't sold, and she didn't know why. Apparating, she arrived outside and understood. The for-sale sign had come down, and it looked lived in.

A dark look came over Hermione's face as she apparated to the Ministry and walked directly to the elevators with tunnel vision. Grabbing the rail, waiting for everyone to board, she didn't realise who was behind her until she heard the snarl of her last name.

Hermione felt all too stiff as she turned to face the person. Once realising who it was, she did not lose composure.

"Parkinson," Hermione said very purposely as she knew Pansy had gotten divorced herself. Although living across the pond, Hermione tried to keep up with the news back home. How else would she know when to come back?

Pansy stuck her nose in the air, just that little bit. "I thought you ran away like a scaredy-cat."

"Obviously not," Hermione responded, trying to end the pointless conversion.

Pansy started verbally ripping Hermione to shreds. Not quite saying mudblood, because prejudice would be dire, but Hermione knew the war hadn't changed Pansy.

"Look, I have work to do, is there actually something you want or should I just continue ignoring you?"

Pansy's mouth opened once, twice at Hermione's straightforwardness before finally settling on, "I thought you didn't work here anymore!"

The elevator sucked them to the next department before Hermione could respond. The elevator restabilised, doors opening on the floor Hermione needed.

"Let me rectify that: I never left. Effective immediately, consider me back from my holiday," Hermione said without looking at Pansy and walked out.

Hermione took a right, then a left and followed a long corridor while briefly responding to the startled hellos at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Coming to a large room with filing cabinets, she moved to the side and opened a draw labelled Magical Land and Properties. The draw stretched across the room before slamming into a wall. Hermione rolled her eyes; they still hadn't separated the files into another drawer. Walking to the W's, she stopped and rifled through until she found the right Weasley file.

Walking to the department head's office, she rushed through without knocking and slammed the paperwork onto Harry Potter's desk.

He jumped in surprise. An excited smile reached his face at seeing Hermione after so long before he noticed her dark look and became apprehensive.

"What can I do for you, Hermione?" Harry asked, feeling like he was at Hogwarts again.

She pushed the folder closer to him, pointing to a specific page.

"What does that mean, Harry?"

He read it before looking back up. "But that makes no sense. I did not approve it!" Harry responded.

Albeit sloppy, there was Harry Potter's signature at the bottom, approving in taking Hermione's and Ron's place off the market and staying in present ownership.

There was a moment before Harry groaned and muttered curses under his breath. He raked his hands through his hair in frustration.

"I think I know what happened." Harry's brows furrowed, face paling. "A good few months back, Ron might have gotten me drunk…"

"Harry—!"

Harry quickly cut in before Hermione could berate him. "Look, I can fix this easily. It'll be back on the market in no time."

Hermione crossed her arms. "No. Not good enough, Harry James Potter," Hermione snapped. "Ron Weasley has gone against our divorce terms. I want a Binding Notice drafted up."

Harry's eyes widened, showing how vivid a green they were.

"He took our house off the market, illegally, and he has not bought out my share," she finished off.

Harry slumped in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Ok," Harry said slowly. "You know this is a shit situation for me, right?"

Hermione calmed down, just that little bit. She knew Harry was best friends with both her and Ron. If the roles were reversed and Harry and Ginny were in this situation, Hermione knew this would be a daunting thing to sign off.

Yet, Hermione would have signed it.

"A compromise then. Draft up the notice, and I'll take it to Kingsley to sign," Hermione said, businesslike.

Harry looked a little too relieved.

The silence between them became awkward in the office.

"How's America?" Harry finally asked as he wrote.

Hermione's nose scrunched. "It's alright. I haven't visited many places."

Harry almost got a smirk on his face. "Reading?" He said.

Hermione glared good-heartedly. "I hope you know I've taken up gardening—" although he didn't need to know that's what was paying her bills "—but yes, I have finally read those books."

Near the end of her relationship with Ron, although unexpecting to what was really going on behind closed doors, Hermione felt a weird niggle deep in her bones. She ceased reading and working as much and just tried being around Ron whenever they were free. She was thankful she hadn't fallen pregnant as that was the next step they were up to in their lives.

A wide smile brightened Hermione's face. "I heard you're expecting," she said to Harry.

The smile must have been contagious because the same look came to Harry's face, and he started blubbering about the exciting news as he hurried up the paperwork.

He finished another paper and moved it to an in-tray, then eyed the sizable stack of papers he still had to get through. "You know, life was so much easier when you were deputy for me," Harry said, still looking at the stack on his desk.

A look came to Hermione's face.

* * *

When Hermione entered the Ministry of Magic's, Kingsley Shacklebolt's office, the older gentleman had tea waiting for her with a big welcome back. Funny how quick word travels.

"Thank you for not replacing my position. I was gone for quite a while after all," Hermione responded to the warm greeting.

"Course I wouldn't replace you, Hermione. I want you to take over hopefully."

"You're too kind," she said humbly. "But I know you've got this next election in the bag. Besides, I'd have to win the public first."

The Minister chuckled. "From what I've seen, you already did."

Hermione knew that wasn't true anymore. She knew how much sway tabloids had, and Theodore Nott was gaining public attention since Hermione left London. The lanky man had charm, wealth, and apart from his father, Theodore's family hadn't participated in the war. Everyone knew his father was estranged from the family (it was a huge scandal, the mother leaving the father and remarrying. Multiple times). The tabloids soaked him up – Hermione _knew_ tabloids could ruin or make a person and it wasn't even close to her deliberated timeline of her life goals. She still had much to do and wasn't one hundred percent sure how to accomplish it – she had three years to get her affairs in order for the 2019 election.

The magical world was still divided with bigotry. Honestly, who's to say another dark lord wouldn't rise if things didn't further change? A lot of witches and wizards still perceived muggles as second-class citizens, and Hermione was the biggest muggle advocate of all. She'd make it so that Kingsley Shacklebolt would once again win.

"Kingsley, there's another reason why I'm here," Hermione added.

"Oh?"

Taking a calming breath, Hermione slid the Binding Notice over, explaining what has come to her attention with Ron Weasley and their divorce settlement – how he broke the rules and how Harry felt inappropriate signing it.

"I see," Kingsley said. He sat for a while, mulling over the notice before looking back to Hermione.

"How about talking to him first? Once you've done that, then I'll sign. How does that sound?" He said, trying to be mediating.

Hermione felt something close to fury and disappointment simmer under her skin but tried to understand. Maybe there was a reason as to why Ron had done this. Perhaps he wasn't being selfish. Perhaps he wanted to buy out her part but had no way of contacting her since she basically shut off all communication.

Giving the benefit of the doubt, she agreed.

Going back and forth between London and America was disconcerting at first. Hermione's body clock was all over the place. When she left work at six o'clock and flooed home, it was midday. Most of the time she'd be sleeping the afternoon away. Thankfully she had magic and could make her room pitch black when needed. Sleeping Draught helped when her body was too high-strung from work. She'd been far too busy catching up with her workload. Her poor garden was being neglected, and she _still_ hadn't seen Ron – to be fair, she has been to the threshold of their house. She'd see the white picket fence and chicken out. Its symbolism was too jarring.

She was also using magic much more than she was comfortable in a muggle neighbourhood. Considering how electronics didn't react well to magic, she was worried that the excessive use was leaking outside her property's perimeter. Knowing how delicate some devices were these days, the magical community had to be more careful than ever before.

Sluggishly stumbling down the stairs after waking up too early for a day off, she chucked on some boots and gloves and headed to the garden. It wasn't till about half an hour later when her hands and knees were muddy that she realised people were standing on the vacant land next to her house.

Craning her neck to get a better look, Hermione watched as the group started surveying the property. View partly obscured from her tall fence, she looked around for something to stand on and spotted a garden chair she got second-hand a while ago that precariously balanced old pots that were too small from the mandrakes getting too big that resided within the greenhouse.

Dumping the pots onto the grass, taking note she should probably start up some new seedlings with them, she brought the chair next to her fence, stepped onto it and looked at all the markers that were being placed around, noticing some were quite close to the fence line. Becoming worried, finally, someone walked nearby.

"Excuse me!" Hermione said.

The man didn't seem to notice. She could only see the back of his head, and he seemed to be talking, but no one was near him. He was dressed very casually compared to the other people on the property.

She tried again; a bit louder. "Sorry, excuse me!" Her voice was sharper than intended.

The man snapped his head to her, face frustrated. "Yes, you're excused," he said flippantly.

Her nose wrinkled realising who stood in front of her. The owner of the property, Tony Stark. Apprehensive on the potential consequences of him being here, she asked, "what's being built if you don't mind?"

Stark looked at her strangely for a moment. "How are your wireless connections?" He asked—more like demanded.

Perplexed, Hermione would have trodden carefully and asked, _Why do you ask?_ But she finally snapped from his utter rudeness, saying, "Why are you here?"

He paused, taking her in once realising the conversion was going stagnant. She seemed to still be in her pyjamas, considering the time. Caked gardening gloves gripped the fence, curly hair in disarray and dirt smudged across the tip of her nose. He ran a hand through his hair, mirth in his eyes. It was apparent what she had been up to on her side of the fence.

"I live here," Tony Stark said, tone trying not to be snarky. His head was tilted more than he'd like to look at her.

Before she could question further, as there was no house on Tony's land for him to live in, Tony continued, "I think we got off to the wrong foot, neighbour," Tony said, laying the charm on thick. "To your first question, I'm rebuilding my house that blew up a couple of years ago—" He did not wait for a response since it was vast knowledge as to what happened to his house, and he _knows_ people in the area haven't been happy with him since "—Second, I'm standing here because there seems to be a blackspot with my comms. And most importantly, a pleasure to meet you."

"Hermione Granger—" She tried to introduce herself civilly.

"—by the way, there's something on your nose," Tony cut in with finality, walking away. He remembered he needed to talk to the builders about some minor adjustments.

"Stark!"

He turned around to face her with a bit of smugness while walking backwards. "Oh, so you _do_ know who I am."

Hermione did not know what to think of her neighbour as she walked—more stomped—into her kitchen. Realising too late the mess she made in her house, she wrenched off her dirty gloves and boots, walked back to her rear door, and discarded them outside. Firmly shutting both the wooden and screen doors, she turned back to the trail of muddy footprints and magicked them away.

Breathing deeply within her loungeroom, Hermione tried collecting herself. She briefly looked at the time and then doubled back.

One o'clock.

Time had flown by. It was later than what she wanted it to be. In London, it would be six o'clock. She looked down at herself and pinched the bridge of her nose realising she was ridiculously caked in mud. She needed a shower before leaving. Mentally calculating where her clothes were and how long it would take for her to get ready, she decided to forgo the shower and use Scourgify instead.

She had to use the charm three times. Her mouth tasted like soap and she was sure her hair was frizzy instead of curly.

Throwing on some reasonable clothes, Hermione inspected her reflection briefly before scoffing. She wasn't going home to impress Ron. She set a fast pace to her fireplace and held a pinch of floo powder for a moment, deciding where would be the best option to go.

The Leaky Cauldron was packed for a weekday as Hermione stepped out of the green flames. Swerving through the people, she braced herself before Apparating home.

Like always, the waist-high white picket fence was jarring as she stood outside the property's boundary line. Unlocking the gate, she followed the cobblestone path to the front door, thankful the lights were on – Ron was home. At first, she wasn't sure if she should knock or use her key.

Hermione used the key. It was her house, after all, and she had matters to address.

Ron was sitting on the couch with a beer in hand while watching the telly she introduced him to.

It was a too familiar scene.

"Evening Ron," Hermione said, hoping to sound blasé.

He jumped out of his skin; it seemed.

"What are you doing here?" Ron said, defensively.

Instantly, Hermione's hackles raised. "This is my house..." She stopped, knowing Ron would get unreasonable. She then softened, pointedly asking, "Why has it not sold?" She tried to give the benefit of the doubt.

Ron eventually said, "I thought with you gone, you didn't want it anymore."

"I don't want it, that's the thing—"

Ron cut her off. "See! So, does it matter if I live in it then? I mean, you're obviously living somewhere else, and you're doing fine."

"That does not mean I don't need the money!" Hermione was getting angry at Ron's mindset.

"Why, though? You're obviously fine wherever you're living!" He too was getting frustrated.

Hermione snapped, "You do not get freebees out of this divorce, Ronald Bilius Weasley! We both paid for half of this house! You were the one who cheated and messed up our lives!"

He went soft. "I said I was sorry."

Hermione glared at his new tactic. "You are not. You just want to eat the whole cake," she seethed.

The next moment, before anything else could be said, Lavender Brown walked out from the bathroom, skimpily clad, not caring about what was happening. Lavender would have easily heard Hermione and Ron's... discussion.

Hermione's eyes were cold like rocks as she looked between the two of them – Ron getting more and more embarrassed. Only now did Hermione notice the glass of wine on the coffee table.

And the new vase.

"You've got to be joking," Hermione spat before apparating away.

* * *

Hermione was bloody calm as she walked into Kingsley Shacklebolt's office well after hours, knowing he'd be there for another nine minutes.

"We talked, Ron and I," Hermione said as she sat in front of Kingsley unceremoniously. Her clothes were ruffled after apparating from Ron to the Ministry.

Before Kingsley could say anything, Hermione methodically placed the papers down, continuing, "I need these signed."

Hermione was calm. Too calm. Kingsley looked at her for a moment before slowly nodding, his quill touching the dotted line, signing next to her bloodied name on the Binding Notice.

"Is that all you needed," Kingsley asked, his voice malleable. Binding Notices were serious. He tried to lower their professional wall to allow her a friend to confide in.

Hermione plucked the papers one by one and put them in her folder. "Thank you," she said purposely, not answering.

"Hermione, I know this probably isn't the time, but since you're here," Kingsley tapered off.

Her dark eyes were unwavering, waiting.

"I'm retiring," Kingsley said. "I'm not running for this year's election."

Hermione swore.


End file.
